


you're a revelation (liberate me now)

by shinelikemillions91



Category: The 1975 (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, Self-Indulgent, bros being bros, george loves the cake, matty bakes a cake, quarantine fic, they love each other a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:09:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27269257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinelikemillions91/pseuds/shinelikemillions91
Summary: The Matty/George quarantine fic that quite literally no one ever asked for but I wrote it anyway.
Relationships: George Daniel/Matthew Healy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	you're a revelation (liberate me now)

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY so in a fit of self-loathing I deleted this fic because I thought it was utter garbage, but a few lovely people have asked me to re-upload, so here we are!
> 
> This is obviously fiction, I'm pretty certain this never happened but we can dream, right?
> 
> ENJOY <3

George realises something is changing between him and Matty, roughly a month after going into lockdown together.

It had been a complete no-brainer that they would quarantine together, as soon as everything had started to go tits up, Matty had called George, told him he was going to the studio, asked George to come with him, and George had said yes. Simple as that.

Matty brings George his coffee every morning, much like he did when they lived together before. He even trills ‘rise and shine, sleepy head,’ like he used to, and it makes the familiar glow of nostalgia burn brightly inside George, because living with Matty had been the happiest time of his life. They’d been so young, they would stay up until sunrise, chatting, getting high, writing music. They would laugh until Matty snorted wine out of his nose, they would talk nonsense, pass out on opposite sofas, and even when this happened, Matty would always wake George with a cup of coffee.

 _‘Rise and shine, sleepy head.’_

George admits to himself that he missed it more than he realised.

George notes after about two weeks that Matty’s mood tends to spiral as the day progresses, he’s chipper at breakfast, moody at lunch, and downright morose by the time George dishes up dinner in the evening. He tells Matty not to watch the news, does his best to distract Matty with music, football, and endless movie reruns on Netflix, but nothing ever seems to shift his bad mood. That is until one evening they’re watching The Breakfast Club, and they’re only about twenty minutes in when Matty speaks up.

‘Umm… I know we don’t do this kinda thing anymore, but-... can I have a cuddle, please?’

George laughs but doesn’t argue, moving closer to Matty on the sofa, and pulling Matty into his chest. Matty uses him like a pillow, wrapping his arms around George’s middle, and George is struck by the fact that it really has been a long time since they’ve done this. They used to do it all the time, especially when they first started touring, homesickness would get too much, and they’d end up in each other’s bunks. They couldn’t go home, but they could be each other’s home for the time being, for as long as they needed it.

They fall asleep that way, Matty’s head on George’s chest, the movie playing quietly in the background, and they wake up tangled together, legs intertwined, Matty’s face buried in George’s neck. And when George awakes first, he doesn’t have the heart to move, so he waits for Matty to slowly come to himself, and he almost looks shy when he realises the position they’re in. A shy Matty is a rare thing.

The same thing happens every evening for the next week, but on the fifth day, George is restless, Matty is asleep on his chest, and he finds his fingers slowly stroking the short shaved sides of Matty’s fucking stupid mohawk. His hair is soft under his touch, and George fondly observes the flecks of grey in Matty’s dark hair. _God, we’re getting old,_ he thinks to himself, and wants to laugh, wonders what his younger self would say if he could see him now. Aged thirty, and single, with his best friend and his stupid haircut holed up together in a recording studio because of a fucking global emergency. Laughable. He falls asleep eventually, his fingers in Matty’s hair, Matty’s soft breath on his neck.

It starts George off on a train of thought though, one that niggles at his brain and won’t leave him alone. George and Matty, Matty and George. Completely inseparable to the point where people have genuinely mistaken them as a couple, and George isn’t stupid, he read some of that fanfiction when he was younger, and he found it genuinely funny. Because he and Matty had always just been friends, despite the frequent common misconception, they’ve never even kissed, spare the odd friendly peck on the cheek. But he starts to think that maybe, just maybe, everyone can see something that both he and Matty have been missing. 

George knows he loves Matty, loves him unconditionally, they _get_ each other, they’re an extension of one another’s personality, yet he’s never even considered to think of Matty in that way before, until now. Girlfriends have never really worked for either of them really, and it’s never been through lack of trying, but at the end of the day, the girls always got tired of playing second fiddle, of not being put first, and who could really blame them? They’ve always put each other first, never even had to think twice about doing so because they’re Matty and George. George and Matty, and now that George really has time to stop and think about it, it’s always been just the two of them. He quickly decides that this isn’t a sexuality crisis, because he knows deep down that whatever he feels for Matty almost transcends sexuality, because he’s just Matty. He’s just Matty but he’s really so much more than that.

‘You’ll hurt yourself if you think too hard,’ Matty’s voice breaks him out of his musings, and he looks up at Matty from his place at the dining table, his mug of tea has gone cold and his cigarette has burnt right down to the end, spilling ash all over the shiny wood. Matty is smiling down at him, two steaming mugs in his hands.

‘Made you another, you’ve been sitting there in silence for ages, you good, man?’

‘Thanks, yeah I’m fine, just thinking about stuff.’ _Thinking about how you might be the love of my fucking life, and I didn’t even realise it._

‘Stuff,’ Matty laughs, setting the mug of tea down in front of him. ‘Very eloquent. Look at you and your words.’

George smiles, and rubs his face, noticing that it’s almost 5pm, and Matty has yet to descend into his dark mood, for the first time since this all started. ‘Yeah, stuff…’ he trails off, because Matty is perched on the table, and when the sun hits his face just right, George is struck by just how fucking beautiful Matty is. Not conventionally beautiful, but beautiful in all his imperfections, and George feels winded, looking away quickly to pick up his tea, for need of something to occupy his hands.

‘Got an online shop coming soon, by the way,’ Matty says casually, sipping his tea and looking at George over the rim of his mug. ‘Got some wine and pizza and stuff in, we’ve been here almost a month, and we haven’t been drunk once… miss getting pissed with you, man.’

George feels warm all over, and he gives Matty a genuine smile. ‘That’ll be nice… I guess it’s not really been a celebratory thing, being here, you know? Given everything, but it’ll be nice to have a few drinks, even though you know I hate red wine.’

‘I got some beers for you,’ Matty says sheepishly, taking a hasty sip of his drink.

‘You’re getting soft in your old age,’ George teases, but it’s kind, there’s nothing behind it, because really, George thinks he could get used to this softer, kinder version of Matty. He’s much less brash and abrasive than he used to be, more vulnerable, and it makes George want to protect Matty even more, because he knows how much Matty tends to wear his heart on his sleeve.

‘Fuck off, we’re essentially the same age, less of the old man talk, please.’

‘I’ll tell that to your grey hairs, shall I?’

‘Says your receding hairline,’ Matty laughs, standing up and heading over towards the sofa, and George watches him walk away, his eyes noting the way Matty’s joggers hang loosely off his slim hips. He’s not the skinny twenty-one year old he once was, he’s more filled out now, healthier, it looks good on him. 

George would be lying if he said that he’d never checked Matty out in that way before, he’s seen Matty naked more times than he can count, hell, he’s seen Matty fuck girls before, Matty’s seen _him_ fuck girls before. Granted, they were normally too high or drunk to really comprehend what was happening most of the time, but the fact that George knows how Matty likes to fuck sends unprecedented spikes of warmth through his body, and straight to his cock. He’s known for years that Matty likes to get all up in someone’s space, he likes to kiss open mouthed and dirty, he likes to fuck hard, and fast.

George isn’t entirely sure if Matty is aware that George has also caught him in some very compromising positions with a fair few guys over the years. George has always shoved these thoughts to the back of his brain, telling himself that it’s rude, and invasive to dwell on something like that. But this rule only seemed to apply to Matty with guys, not girls, and George never truly understood what that meant. He’s seen Matty pinned to the wall by guys larger than him, all pretty, with wine-soaked, red lips, tossing his hair, and laying it on thick to impress, erection glaringly obvious in those sinfully tight skinny jeans he used to wear, he’s witnessed Matty sucking guys off, on more than one occasion...

George stands up, gulping down the freshly made tea, and almost scalding himself in the process, he takes a second to glance over at Matty who’s scrolling through his phone on the sofa.

‘Just gonna hop in the shower,’ he calls out, and Matty ‘hmms’ in response, not looking up from his phone.

George rushes towards the bathroom, all sorts of thoughts swirling around his head, like how he’s never really _properly_ considered his best friend in a sexual way, but now he most certainly _is,_ specifically thinking about the first time George walked in on Matty sucking someone off. Matty on his knees. Matty on his knees, bobbing his head up and down with eyeliner running down his face, and spit dribbling from the corners of his mouth.

By the time George steps under the hot spray of the shower, he’s fully hard, cock curving up against his stomach as he leans against the wall, lets the hot water wash over his body, trying to calm the thoughts that are spreading through his brain like wildfire. He knows logically that he needs to stop thinking about Matty like this. It’s _Matty,_ he's two rooms over, innocently scrolling through Twitter and waiting for the goddamn Ocado delivery, completely unaware of the fact that George is thinking about what Matty’s mouth would feel like on his cock, how it would feel to fist his fingers in Matty’s hair…

George has his fist wrapped around his cock quicker than he can comprehend, and he strokes himself off almost frantically, telling himself to focus on a nice pair of tits, how good pussy tastes… but no, all he can see is Matty, filling up all of his senses. And when he comes, he bites down on his knuckles to stop from saying Matty’s name, because that really would be a step too far. 

He ends up washing himself quickly, trying to ignore the shame that descends in the aftermath of his orgasm, and when he heads back into the living room, he finds Matty bobbing his head along to the radio, surrounded by bags of food as he puts away the shopping.

‘Need some help?’ George asks, deciding that acting normal is the best course of action here. 

Matty jumps, spinning around clutching a carton of eggs, he’s pouting like a child and George can’t help but grin.

‘Never seen someone look so sad about eggs before.’

‘Nothing wrong with the eggs, however, they did send the wrong bloody wine! I ordered Malbec and they sent me Shiraz!’

‘You’ve said some pretty pretentious shit in your time, Matty, but that might just take the cake… just drink the fucking wine, it all tastes the same!’ George argues, picking up a bag and starting to place the items in their various cupboards.

‘Only a wine pleb would say such a thing,’ Matty argues back.

‘Rather be a wine pleb than a wine snob.’

‘Your shitty beer is in the fridge,’ Matty says with an exaggerated roll of his eyes, and George is momentarily struck by the fact that ten minutes earlier he was wanking in the shower to thoughts of his best friend’s mouth wrapped around his cock, and now, here they were, having a domestic argument over Matty’s alcohol snobbery. However, after almost twenty years of friendship, George should know by now that nothing will ever truly surprise him when it comes to Matty.

**

It’s late, and they’re half-way pissed, discarded beer cans, and Matty’s wine bottle strewn across the floor, the room slightly hazy with smoke from where they’ve been chaining for the last hour. 

‘This is so fucking crazy, man,’ Matty keeps repeating, he’s got his legs hooked over the edge of the sofa, back flat on the floor, and he’s looking up at George who has his legs stretched out in front of him, back against the sofa. ‘So fucking crazy.’

‘So fucking crazy,’ George echoes with a giggle. Matty pouts then.

‘Are you mocking me?’

‘You’ve said nothing but how fucking crazy it is for the last five minutes,’ George laughs. ‘You’ve been saying it for so long I’ve forgotten what’s supposed to be so fucking crazy in the first place!’

‘This!’ Matty exclaims, waving his arms around wildly from his position on the floor, and almost hitting George in the process. ‘All of this, this fucking shit, it’s so fucking weird, being stuck here with you… all of it, man. Fucking weird.’

‘Stuck here with me, huh?’ George teases. ‘I can fuck off home if you want?’

‘No, no,’ Matty says quickly, with a rapid shake of his head. ‘No… I just meant, like, it’s weird, we’re living together again, never thought that would happen. It’s kinda nice in a way, if there wasn’t like, a fucking pandemic going on, you know?’

‘Did you miss me?’ George coos, nudging matty’s thigh with his elbow, grinning. It’s been a long fucking time since they lived together, and it’s soothing to George that maybe Matty misses it just as much as he does.

‘Course,’ Matty says easily, struggling to sit up, blinking against the apparent drunken haze that settled as soon as he was upright. He crosses his legs, and he looks like a little boy, in his baggy shorts, and oversized shirt that comes halfway down his thighs. ‘I mean… we live together while we’re on tour, always feels weird when we’re not together, you know what I mean?’

George knows exactly what Matty means. He nods, bringing his legs up so his knees are under his chin, and he looks at Matty, smiling wryly.

‘We’re essentially a married couple,’ George says, echoing words that Matty has said in many interviews before.

‘You’re my music husband… at least that’s what the internet calls us,’ he giggles, and warmth blooms in George’s chest because Matty doesn’t laugh that much anymore, or at least not as freely, and George is only just starting to realise how much he’s missed it.

‘If I had any beer left, I’d drink to that.’

‘Cheers,’ Matty snorts, nudging his socked foot against George’s before tucking his knees under his chin, mirroring George’s position. Something tugs in George’s chest, but he tries to ignore it.

‘Do you ever think,’ George starts, contemplating how best to word what he wants to say next. ‘Do you ever think it’s weird that nothing’s ever… y’know…’ he scratches his head a little, staring at the empty space between them, ‘...like, we’ve never kissed or anything?’

He feels stupid as soon as the words pass through his lips, thinking he sounds like something out of an awfully cliched movie. He finds Matty looking at him intently when he’s finally brave enough to meet Matty’s eye. He’s biting on his lower lip, suddenly appearing serious when he shrugs.

‘Dunno, man. Is it?’

George feels flustered and stupid at Matty’s answer, tightening his arms around himself in an act of self-preservation. He can feel his cheeks going pink.

‘Just think it’s a bit weird, I know everything about you…’ he trails off. _I want to know what you taste like, what you feel like, what you sound like when I kiss you, and it’s driving me crazy._

‘Do you wanna kiss me?’ Matty asks, voice low, and quiet, running a hand over his stubbly jaw, looking uncertain. ‘If you wanna, you can just say so.’

‘Well… I- I mean I dunno… I just, I mean I haven’t kissed anyone in ages, we might be here for a while…’

He stops mid-sentence because Matty is shuffling towards him, and George instinctively lowers his knees so Matty can awkwardly climb into his lap, his skinny knees bracketing George’s thighs on the floor, his pale fingers gripping onto George’s shirt to steady himself. This position isn’t uncommon, Matty’s always straddling all of them, especially Adam because he’s always always prone to the funniest reactions, rolling his eyes, whereas he and Ross just indulge Matty most of the time. But the air between them is different this time, charged with something, and Matty is being uncharacteristically quiet.

And apparently they’re doing this now, _right now,_ because Matty is so close, and George’s breath catches in his throat when Matty leans in and connects their lips, hands still fisted loosely in George’s shirt. He’s so stunned, that he forgets to kiss back, and he finds his fists balled tightly by his sides, and Matty pulls away with a slightly put-out expression gracing his face in the dim room.

‘Hope that’s not how you kiss all the boys, George. That was fucking terrible.’

‘Fuck off,’ George groans, scowling. ‘You took me by surprise, okay?’

George decides against telling Matty that he’s actually never really kissed a guy before, not properly, feeling it would somewhat ruin the mood, whatever the mood is, so he keeps quiet. He lifts his hands to rest on Matty’s bare thighs, trying his best not to feel awkward, because this is _Matty,_ he’s never been awkward around Matty in his life before.

‘We don’t have to, I can mo-’ George breaks Matty off by leaning up, and pressing their lips together again, and George already feels more comfortable this time because he instigated it, even though his stomach is churning with nerves and hard to place emotions. Matty eases into the kiss almost immediately, fingers bunching tighter in George’s shirt, and George doesn’t know what to do with himself, because _fucking fireworks_ are going off in his head. Matty is so close, his mouth is so wet, smoky and sweet, and George feels like he’s losing his mind.

The kiss becomes messy, and desperate far quicker than George could ever anticipate, with Matty all but moaning by the time George’s fingers slide up the back of his shirt. George is rock hard in his joggers because _holy fuck_ he’s missed kissing, and Matty must feel it because he pulls away, lips pink and damp.

‘Shit, G, desperate much?’ He giggles weakly, letting go of George’s shirt, but then quickly grasping it again as he leans in, mouthing at George’s bottom lip, licking inside George’s mouth, and George can feel how hard Matty is, and for some reason unbeknownst to him, it makes George giggle. It bubbles up inside him as he pulls away from Matty’s mouth, shoulders shaking with unrestrained laughter, and Matty looks at him, confused for a beat before joining in, leaning his head against George’s shoulder and laughing, so loud and so bright that George feels bursts of happiness inside his chest. George is always at his happiest when Matty is happy, especially when Matty’s happiness is by his own hand.

‘Don’t flatter yourself, it’s just been a while!’ George gasps, leaning his head back against the sofa seat, still giggling weakly with Matty’s warm face pressed into the juncture between his shoulder and his neck.

‘Innit,’ Matty snorts softly, rubbing his nose against the collar of George’s shirt. George allows his hands to rest on Matty’s sides as they both focus on getting their breathing back in check. His eyes slip shut and he takes in the feeling of Matty, heavy and warm on top of him, and he can’t help but smile, because it’s been so long since him and Matty have been close like this, he decides to savour it for as long as he can. 

Matty yawns against his neck and slowly lifts his head up, eyes droopy with sleep, and a soft smile on his face, and the wave of love George feels for his best friend is so undeniably strong that he leans in again, cupping Matty’s cheek, rubbing a thumb over his cheekbone as he softly connects their lips. But to George’s dismay, Matty pulls away, looking at him unreadably for a few beats before speaking.

‘How fucking plastered are you?’ He laughs, shifting in George’s lap to lift himself up. George feels bereft of Matty’s weight and warmth as soon as he leaves, and he looks up at Matty, heart pounding because this feels like some weird limbo, and he can’t place any of his emotions. And as Matty stretches and yawns, George feels a pang in his chest.

‘M’goin’ to bed… see you in the morning,’ Matty says, running his fingers through his shaggy, stupid hair, and George thinks he can see a tremor running through his hands, even though the room is dim.

‘Night, mate,’ George says quietly, a sick, lead weight settling in his stomach as he watches Matty walk away.

**

George wakes the following morning with a splitting headache, and he finds he’s almost glad for it, as it distracts from the heaviness that sits in his stomach at last night’s events. He’d been pissed, but not so pissed that he can’t remember exactly what he did. The echoing regret he feels is exacerbated by the fact that it’s nearly midday, and there’s no cup of coffee waiting for him on his nightstand. No ‘rise and shine, sleepy head’, and George’s stomach twists painfully.

He tries to chase the memory of last night, Matty’s lips against his, Matty’s tongue in his mouth, and his moans sounding like music to George’s ears. He can’t remember the last time he got so hard just from kissing someone, but then Matty is magnetic, everything is a performance, he’s a people pleaser, first and foremost. But George hadn’t missed the fact that Matty had been hard too, had been just as into it as he had, fingers fisted so tightly in George’s shirt that he thought it might rip. He hadn’t imagined any of that, so why did everything feel off?

Sitting up with a groan, George rubs at his eyes and swings his feet out onto the chilly wooden floor. He can hear movement coming from the kitchen so he shrugs on yesterday’s joggers, and shuffles into the kitchen. 

He’s eager to down a pint of water and a handful of paracetamol to quell his throbbing headache before he has to face Matty, but he’s out of luck on this count, because Matty is rummaging in the fridge in just his boxers, and what looks to be a fucking apron tied around his waist. George spies several bowls and messy spoons, and the countertop is covered in a fine dusting of flour

Matty must sense his presence because pipes up, ‘have you seen the butter?’ Head still buried in the fridge.

‘It’s in the door,’ George replies nonchalantly, grabbing a mug, and filling it with water, and then rummaging in the drawer for the much needed painkillers.

‘Ah, sick, thanks.’ Matty’s face pops out of the fridge, grinning as he clutches the butter. 

‘What you making?’ George inquires, popping two pills at once, and wondering how Matty managed to escape last night, apparently hangover free. He looks freshly showered, the dark tendrils of his messy mohawk curling damp against the nape of his neck, and the overwhelming desire to bury his face in Matty’s neck while he measures out the butter is so strong that George has to grasp the counter hard, and tell himself to get a fucking grip.

‘It’s a surprise,’ Matty smirks.

‘And where the hell did you get an apron from? We didn’t bring an apron?’

‘Found it in the cupboard,’ Matty chuckles as he starts to mix the ingredients together. George is perplexed because in the almost two decades of knowing each other, George has never seen Matty bake anything, food is George’s metiere, definitely not Matty’s.

George peers over Matty’s shoulder at the ingredients in the bowl.

‘Making a cake? What’s the occasion? I’ve literally never seen you bake before, mate?’

George is mercifully glad that it’s not awkward between them this morning, hell, maybe Matty doesn’t even remember? Though George suspects that may be wishful thinking on his part.

‘Just felt like it,’ Matty shrugs, not looking at George, trying his best to mix the ingredients without getting more flour everywhere. ‘Fuck off for a bit, yeah? You’re making me lose concentration.’

‘Dick,’ George mutters, but there’s little malice behind it, he knows what Matty’s like when he needs to concentrate on something. He makes a hasty decision to leave Matty to it for the time being, opting for taking a long, hot shower, in an attempt to shift the horrible hangover that’s making his head feel fuzzy.

**

George emerges an hour later, feeling a thousand percent better after his shower, skin pink from the heat of it, and headache thankfully, finally petering out. He meanders towards the kitchen, cigarettes and lighter in hand, and hoping against hope that Matty hasn’t set anything on fire, or given himself food poisoning again. 

But to George’s pleasant surprise, the kitchen isn’t on fire, Matty isn’t throwing up in the sink, and everything looks calm. The counters are tidy, and Matty is sitting at the dining table, now dressed, and scrolling through his phone. The kitchen smells delicious, and George hates to admit that he’s actually impressed, Matty has surpassed his expectations.

‘There’s no fire,’ George quips, grabbing a slice of leftover pizza from the fridge that he’d hastily put away before he’d gone to bed last night.

‘Haha, fuck you,’ Matty retorts, not even looking up from his phone, and George just grins through his mouthful of pizza, leaning against the table where Matty is sitting.

‘Sorry, sorry,’ he grins, and Matty looks up from his phone then, and he’s smiling brightly.

‘I followed the recipe perfectly, can you smell it? It smells fucking good, right? Never made a cake before, thought this was as good a time as any to learn!’

Matty’s words come out in a rush, like they often do when he’s excited about something, and George is always enamoured by it. He’s like an excitable puppy, and he’s like it about everything; music, fashion, art, and now, apparently baking.

‘Smells good, man,’ George admits, finishing off his pizza as the timer goes off on Matty’s phone. Matty beams up at him before shucking his phone aside and getting up to deal with the cake.

George goes over to the french patio doors, cracking them open so he can light up, basking in the familiarity of everything, of having Matty pottering around in the kitchen while he smokes.

‘Should be on fucking Bake Off!’ Matty cackles, and George grins around his cigarette, rubbing his fingers against his temple, trying to decipher if this scenario would have made him feel so soft for Matty, prior to his little _revelation_. He settles with yes, because this version of Matty is his favourite, domestic, content, and easy going, not strung out and snappy like he has been for the last few weeks since they arrived.

He stubs out his cigarette on the floor and turns to go back inside, noting Matty has grabbed his phone, and is now taking photos of the cake from various angles. He’s grinning to himself, unaware of George watching him, and all of a sudden, it hits George like a tonne of bricks. Watching Matty beaming with pride at his creation fills George with a love so strong he can feel it throughout his entire body, starting in his toes, working it’s way upwards until it feels like he’s burning with it, the urge to go over to Matty, pull him into his arms, and kiss him until they’re both breathless, is almost overpowering. He wants to kiss Matty again, to recreate the night before, but without the bravado of alcohol, to let Matty know that he’s kissing him because he _needs_ to, not because he wants to experiment, or whatever excuse his drunken brain came up with the previous night.

Matty cuts them both slices, sets George’s plate down on the table in front of him, and hovers over his shoulder, no doubt watching anxiously as George takes a bite, and then another. And to George’s surprise, the cake is actually good, like, really really good, and he devours the rest in seconds, and contemplates asking for a second slice when Matty pipes up.

‘Good cake?’

‘Nah, it was gross, Matty. That’s why I ate the whole fucking thing.’

He’s grinning, and George hears Matty take a photo of him, and he groans. He’d wanted to keep a low profile since they got here, but he should have known it would be virtually impossible to do such a thing while living with Matty. He turns round in his chair, just to let Matty know he was joking, but Matty is still smiling, and he places a hand on George’s shoulder, just briefly giving him a small squeeze. George feels warm all over from the contact, and he bites on his bottom lip.

‘Seriously, why the cake?’ He asks, because he’s intrigued to find out if it has something to do with the previous night’s events, though George is struggling to make the logical leap between snogging your best mate and making him a cake.

Matty looks a little embarrassed, removing his hand from George’s shoulder.

‘Never celebrated our birthdays properly, did we?’ 

Matty’s voice sounds small, and apologetic and George stands up quickly before he can really rationalise his movements, pulling Matty into a tight hug because he wasn’t expecting that answer, something like that hadn’t even crossed his mind, and the fact that it had been playing on Matty’s mind makes his chest ache. 

‘It’s okay, mate, it just would have felt really weird to celebrate birthdays given everything,’ George says gently, holding Matty close, his face pressed into Matty’s hair. He feels Matty hum into his chest, and George sways them gently, taking solace, and comfort in having Matty close in this way, and by the way Matty seems to be burying closer, he assumes maybe Matty is feeling the same. 

George pulls away after a while, and Matty lifts his face to meet George’s. 

‘I loved the cake, thank you,’ George says gently, upon realising he hadn’t thanked Matty properly, only given him a sarky response, which he now regrets given the circumstances. 

He’s just about to turn, intent on getting another piece of cake, when Matty’s slender fingers cup his cheeks on both sides, and he pulls George’s face down to meet his, their mouths meeting softly. Matty starts out slow, tentative, and unsure, like he wasn’t panting and hard in George’s lap the previous night, but George doesn’t mind, he’s happy for Matty to control the pace as he rests his hands on Matty’s slim hips. When Matty opens his mouth, George takes advantage and licks inside his mouth, a small, imperceptible moan passing through Matty’s parted lips, his fingers gripping George’s face a little tighter.

‘Fuck, you taste like cake,’ he mumbles, pulling away from George’s mouth, and George’s heart is beating so fast, he tries to chase Matty’s mouth again, but Matty simply presses their foreheads together briefly, before pulling away properly. 

George feels bereft at the loss, desire surging through his body, wanting to grab Matty and shove him against the counter, drag the pads of his fingers down Matty’s chest, touch him everywhere he possibly can. He feels almost drunk at the onslaught of want, and he’s so caught in his own fantasy that he barely registers that Matty has left the room, leaving George alone, with nothing but chocolate cake for company. 

**

George ultimately decides to leave Matty to it for the rest of the day, he holes himself up inside his room, and George decides to busy himself with work, having neglected it over the last few days. Work is a good distraction from the fact that his stomach is in knots, torn between hating himself for ever bringing anything up last night, and angry at Matty for toying with his emotions, unknowingly or not.

When George eventually checks his watch, and realises he’s been working for nearly five hours, it’s getting dark, and he hasn’t seen or heard from Matty since their kiss in the kitchen, George starts to get a little worried. He knows that the smallest things can trigger Matty’s moods and emotions, and this is quite a _big thing_ after all. So he pads slowly over to Matty’s bedroom door, planning to entice him out with the promise of making him his favourite curry, so he cracks the door open carefully, trying his best to be quiet in case Matty is asleep.

The room is dim, illuminated only by the light coming from Matty’s laptop screen resting on his bed, and _oh._ George’s stomach drops, and he feels almost dizzy from the way all the blood in his body seems to rush to his cock.

Matty’s eyes are closed, headphones placed slightly skewed over his ears. His jeans and boxers are pushed haphazardly down by his knees, his shirt bunched up under his armpits, and he’s stroking his cock, slowly, teasingly. George notices the uncapped bottle of lube on the nightstand, and his stomach twists at the knowledge that Matty must like it wet, and the slick sounds make George’s cock pulse in his joggers. Matty still hasn’t noticed George in the doorway, made apparent by the way he slips two fingers past his parted lips, starting to suck on them eagerly, his toes curling against the sheets.

George is transfixed by the movement of Matty’s hand, the way he fists his cock loosely, and he can tell that Matty’s sucking on his fingers to keep himself quiet, and that in itself is the hottest thing George could ever possibly imagine. He feels so voyeuristic and wrong watching Matty do this, he’s heard Matty have a wank more times than he can count, the downside of living on top of each other for the last ten years, but he’s never _seen_ Matty touch himself like this, it’s different than watching him get off with another person, it’s more intimate, more intense. He’s putting on a show, even though he’s not being watched, his back arching off the bed as his hand speeds up, and George surreptitiously presses the heel of his palm against his cock, knowing he should leave. George is torn, part of him wants to push the door open, wrap his fist around Matty’s cock, and make him come. The other slightly more sensible part of him knows that he should leave, close the door, and pretend it never happened, pretend it never happened while he’s got his face buried in the pillow, fucking against the mattress and trying his best to not say Matty’s name as he comes.

As it stands, he does neither of those things, he’s rooted to the floor, and he notices that Matty’s fingers have slipped from his wet mouth, and George is mesmerised, hot all over, and he’s just building up the nerve to actually fucking _do_ something, when he hears it.

‘God, George.’

George freezes, goes to back away from the door, but Matty is staring straight at him.

George isn’t even aware of his own feet as he stumbles out of the doorway, and towards his own room, questions rushing through his head, so many fucking questions that he doesn’t have any answers for. Most pressingly, had Matty known about George watching him the whole time? Had the entire thing just been for George’s benefit?

Burying his face in his pillow, George groans deeply, he’s so fucking hard he could cry, and knowing Matty is next door probably still touching himself is driving him to the point of distraction. Matty moaned his name, he moaned his fucking name. _God, George_. He grips the pillow to his face and closes his eyes, grinding down hard against the mattress, his brain sparking with images of Matty, images that he’d been so desperately trying to push away, but he just can’t anymore. He thrusts his hips faster, and there’s definitely too many layers of clothing between his cock and the sheets for it to be properly pleasurable, but it has him on the edge embarrassingly quickly, coming with a quiet moan of Matty’s name, swallowed up by the pillow as he spills inside his boxers, hips stuttering weakly into the sheets.

After a few minutes of laying still, allowing his breathing to return to normal, he quickly strips and tosses his dirty boxers and jeans into the corner, rummaging around for a clean pair of boxers, tugging them on, and collapsing back on the bed. He wants to grab a glass of water, but can’t face the thought of running into Matty, the idea so absolutely mortifying that he feels his face start to heat up at the prospect. He buries his face in the pillow once more, trying his best to ignore the ache in his chest, and the wracking guilt coursing through his body like fire.

**

George’s room is in complete darkness when he jerks awake a few hours later. He has a crick in his neck from where he’s been lying awkwardly, and his mouth feels dry, like cotton wool. He grabs his phone from the nightstand, and upon seeing that it’s almost 10pm he decides that it’s probably safe to go and grab a glass of water from the kitchen. He knows full well that he’ll have to speak to Matty about this eventually, but he just really doesn’t want to tonight. The issue is, George thinks, is that he honestly doesn’t know what he’d say to Matty, even if he had the time to come up with something coherent, how do you even start to discuss something as delicate as this?

The hallway is dark as George shuffles towards the kitchen, and he realises that he’s also starving, and the prospect of a big slice of Matty’s cake is sounding more and more appealing with each step he makes.

However, all thoughts of cake are eradicated from George’s mind when he spots Matty, standing with the fridge door open, clad in nothing but boxers, the light from inside illuminating his face, he looks pensive, and drawn, and so fucking beautiful that George’s stomach does a somersault, wishing more than anything that he could go back to a time when the first word that popped into his head when he saw his best friend wasn’t ‘beautiful’.

‘You’re letting all the cold out,’ George mumbles, for lack of anything else meaningful to say, and Matty jumps, slamming the fridge door shut quickly, like a reflexive action. The kitchen plunges into half darkness, lit up only by the moonlight streaming in, and the automatic outside lights.

‘Give me a fucking heart attack, why don’t you?’ Matty mutters as George moves further into the kitchen, ignoring Matty’s snappy comment, and grabbing his discarded mug from earlier, filling it with water, and gulping it down quickly, gripping the mug with shaking hands. He’s endlessly glad that Matty won’t notice the tremor in the darkness. He leans against the counter, trying to ignore the fact that he can feel Matty’s eyes on him, even through the gloom.

‘Did you like what you saw?’ Matty asks, his voice low, dripping with something that George can’t place. He doesn’t like it.

‘Please don’t.’

George’s voice comes out less forceful than he wants it to, he _knows_ that Matty gets cocky when he’s unsure of something, knows that it’s his defense mechanism, but it’s never usually aimed in George’s direction. He’s too tired and confused to deal with Matty when he gets like this, he just wants to eat some cake and pass out for a couple of hours, and deal with all this bullshit in the morning.

‘Don’t what?’ Matty asks, moving a little closer to George in the darkness. ‘Don’t mention that you watched me touch myself? Because you did, George, I knew you were there the whole ti-‘

‘You said my fucking name,’ George cuts him off. ‘Was that real? Or were you just showing off for me?’ His heart is racing at the prospect of Matty’s answer.

Matty swallows loudly, their bodies so close that George could just reach out and touch, trace his fingers over Matty’s milky, moonlit skin, trace them over his ink, make him moan George’s name again, and again, and again.

‘It was real,’ Matty admits, George’s breath catching in his throat, and he’s about to ask Matty what he had been thinking of that made him moan his name like that, but Matty continues. ‘Was thinking about you just coming in, touching me with your fucking huge hands, fucking hell, George.’ He sounds weak, all bravado gone in light of his admission.

‘I wanted to,’ George reveals, his voice low, the air almost tangible with tension. There’s so much about Matty that George is suddenly desperate to know, what sort of noises he would make if George were to press his lips against his neck, what he tastes like, what he looks like when he comes… and it’s only then that George realises that, sure, he know what Matty looks like when he’s fucking someone, but George is now dying to know what he looks like when he’s _being_ fucked. His mind reels with it.

George knows they’re on the precipice of _something_ , and he wants to say that if they go through with whatever this is, then there’s no going back - but maybe they’ve already crossed that line.

Matty looks up at George now, his eyes glittering as he raises his hands up to press them against George’s chest.

‘I don’t know what the fuck this is,’ Matty mumbles, and he surely must be aware of how fast George’s heart is pounding, must be able to feel it under the pads of his fingers.

George decides to throw caution to the wind, because Matty at least acknowledges that there’s something happening, and that’s all he really needs. So he leans down and licks a slow stripe up Matty’s neck, collarbone to jaw, savouring the warm, salty skin under his tongue. It earns a shaky moan from Matty, his head tilting forwards as George keeps his face pressed into Matty’s neck, breathing in his skin, and the smell of his shampoo, trying his best to quell the wild urgency coursing through his veins.

‘Been driving myself to distraction thinking about you these last few days,’ George murmurs against Matty’s throat, relishing the feeling of Matty swallowing thickly against his mouth. He pulls away, Matty’s breathing coming out shaky, hitting George’s skin in warm puffs, and when their eyes meet, George’s stomach gives a nervous flip.

They both move at the same time, crashing into each other like they’re starving for touch, and maybe George is, maybe he’s been starving for this for years, and he didn’t even know until right now. Matty shudders against him, their teeth clashing almost angrily, and Matty’s hands cup the side of George’s face, much like how he’d done that morning, but there’s heat and passion in it now. It’s hot, messy, and desperate, and George isn’t sure what part of Matty he wants to get his hands on the most, so he settles for his hips, dragging him ever closer as Matty bites down on George’s bottom lip, and _tugs_ before slipping his tongue back into George’s mouth.

Matty kisses dirty, just like how George has seen him do hundreds of times with girls and boys alike, but watching him is absolutely nothing like experiencing it first hand. His fingers dig into the warm, bare skin of Matty’s hips, and the hairs stand up on his arms as he feels how hard Matty is against him, and he just has to pull away for air, his chest aching, feeling bruised from having his heart hammering in his chest since this all started. 

‘Jesus Christ, Matty.’

Matty just nods, lips slightly parted, shiny, and pink, breathing staggered and uneven, matching George’s in the otherwise silent room. George reaches up before he knows what he’s doing, running his fingers down the shaved sides of Matty’s hair, it’s starting to grow out, and it feels impossibly soft under his fingers. Matty lets out a shaky sigh and leans into it, closing his eyes, and George can just about see his dark eyelashes fanning out in the soft moonlight.

 _Beautiful._ There’s that word again. Matty is _beautiful._

‘The fuck is going on here, G?’ Matty murmurs, and George doesn’t answer, _can’t_ answer, because he doesn’t know himself, all he knows is that now he’s started kissing Matty, he never wants to stop. So he doesn’t, he kisses Matty again, deftly flipping them so that Matty’s the one with his back pressed up against the counter, and Matty seems to prefer this position better, because he relaxes into it more, and when George grinds himself slowly up against Matty, Matty pushes back, a wet gasp falling from his lips. George’s mouth strays across Matty’s stubbly jaw while he gets his hands underneath Matty’s arse and hoists him up so Matty can perch on the edge of the counter, and to George’s relief, Matty cottons on immediately, wrapping his legs around George’s waist.

‘Can’t believe we’re fucking doing this,’ George mumbles against Matty’s ear, he breathes him in then, feeling intoxicated from the smell of Matty alone.

‘Shut up, you soppy twat,’ Matty groans, his slender fingers running through George’s short hair before trailing down his neck. He fiddles with the neck of George’s shirt, the continual feel of Matty’s fingers on George’s skin driving him almost mad with want, and he’s pathetically grateful when Matty decides to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor haphazardly.

George drags Matty closer so their chests press together, not an inch of space between them as they continue to use their hands and mouths to explore each other, and George isn’t even sure how long they stay in that position. Matty is being so gentle with him, nothing like he expected him to be like, he’s kissing and biting gently along George’s collarbone while George closes his eyes and traces the bumps of Matty’s spine, fingers drifting higher to thread into the back of Matty’s mohawk. He gives an experimental tug, not hard, but hard enough for Matty to jolt, and whine.

‘Fuck, George,’ he spits out between gritted teeth, like he’s barely keeping it together. ‘Don’t do that.’

_Oh._

‘Do you… like that?’ George asks. Of course he fucking does. He pulls harder, and Matty’s mouth falls open in a muted groan. George’s stomach twists with barely contained lust, flashes of Matty bent over with George’s hands fisted in his hair, making George’s cock jump in his boxers.

‘I like that,’ Matty’s voice rasps, and George doesn’t think he’s ever heard Matty’s voice go like that before, all fucked out before they’ve even really done anything. 

Their lips meld together once again, just as frantic, everything is so intense, like they’re magnetised together, and George decides that he’s had enough of this position, so he lifts Matty clean off the counter, and carries him over to the large sofa, lips still sliding messily, Matty’s arms wrapped tightly around his neck.

He lowers Matty down carefully onto the sofa, juxtaposed against his previous desperate movements, but he doesn’t want to hurt Matty, and as soon as Matty’s laying back, he starts to giggle.

‘I’m not made of glass, George,’ Matty laughs softly, his legs unwrapping from around George’s waist, slowly spreading them open to allow George to lower himself down so their bodies are pressed together. Matty latches onto George’s mouth almost instinctively, like they’ve been doing this for years, and George lets himself melt into it, relishing Matty’s warm chest pressed up against his, skinny legs tangled up, bodies rocking together almost seamlessly.

Everything is hazy, the air full of Matty’s gasped sighs, George’s groans, and it’s all so incredibly _them._ They are syncopated, different but the same in so many ways, moving together, and George feels sixteen all over again, needy, and desperate, and Matty is saying his name over, and over, and _God,_ if it isn’t the prettiest thing George has ever heard. He wants more, so much more, so he pulls away, and Matty actually whimpers below him, looking up at George with wide eyes, chest heaving a little from the pressure of having George pressed against him. George brings a hand down slowly to cup against Matty’s restricted cock.

‘Is this okay?’ George murmurs, the heat of Matty’s cock through his boxers making his stomach flip with want, and he expects some witty retort from Matty, something along the lines of, ‘Of course, you daft cunt, get on with it,’ What he doesn’t expect is for Matty to push George’s hand away and tug his boxers down half way so that his cock smacks against his stomach, hard and leaking.

George groans, ‘Fucking hell,’ almost falling off the sofa in his frantic desperation to remove his own boxers, and he glances over to see that Matty has a hand pressed over his mouth, trying his best to stifle his giggles. George just flushes, laughs a little bit, and then repositions himself, kneeling between Matty’s legs, noting that Matty took advantage of George’s clumsiness to remove his boxers completely. His thighs are pale, and skinny, skinnier than he’s ever seen on any other man, and he licks his lips because he honestly cannot see the appeal of doing this with any other man, but this is Matty, and Matty is beautiful, Matty is his best friend, and George is more than a little bit infatuated now he has time to really think about it.

‘Touch me,’ Matty breathes. George doesn't need telling twice.

George holds Matty’s eye as he spits into his hand, swallowing down his nerves as he slowly wraps his hand around Matty’s cock, and pumps slowly, experimentally, teasing himself with his other hand, and Matty whines pitifully.

‘Please don’t tease, George, not now. Please.’

George shakes his head, letting Matty know that he doesn’t intend to do any such thing. He lets go of his own cock, letting his hand rest gently on Matty’s thigh as he spits on Matty’s cock, making sure he’s nice and wet before leaning down and lining their cocks up so they can drag wetly against each other.

‘God, Matty,’ George shudders, crowding him back down against the sofa, and shoving his face into his neck as he starts to thrust. The friction is perfect, and Matty rolls his hips up again to meet George’s, and suddenly they’re back, moving in tandem again, but everything is so much better now, nothing separating their hot skin. Matty is almost clinging to him, mouth pressed against his shoulder, teeth scraping as George presses open mouthed, wet kisses into Matty’s neck.

‘Feels so good, George. You feel so fucking good,’ Matty gasps, lips dragging against George’s cheek, seeking his lips, and whimpering when he finds them. George kisses him like he’s drowning, and Matty is his only source of oxygen, he can’t remember the last time being with someone felt so fucking good, even though they’re just rubbing off on each other like teenagers; it’s perfect. Matty is perfect. _Matty is so fucking beautiful._

Matty drags his nails down George’s back, causing his hips to stutter, because he’s so close, the air around them thick with heat, and want, and even though he thinks he could do this for the rest of his life, he’s also so desperate to come. The drag of their cocks is slicker now, aided by sweat, and pre-come, George can feel his stomach muscles clenching, and Matty’s head is thrown to the side, mouth open, eyes closed, and hips still moving in perfect rhythm. Pretty as a fucking picture. George wants to capture him like that forever.

‘Are you gonna come for me, love,’ George breathes, mouth pressed wetly against Matty’s temple as he tries his utmost to keep his hips moving at a steady rhythm, the pet name spilling from his lips like it was the most natural thing in the whole world. Matty’s back arches, as if George’s words have a real visceral impact on him, and he nods, bottom lip bitten between his teeth. George brings his fingers up to thread into Matty’s hair, pulling like he did earlier, eager to get Matty to lose control.

‘Oh my fucking God, George,’ Matty whines, and he practically shreds his nails down George’s back this time. George feels the hot release of Matty’s come hitting his stomach, and suddenly everything is so much wetter. Matty is shuddering through his orgasm, thighs shaking, and it tips George over the edge. He comes thickly between their bodies, hand still fisted tightly in Matty’s hair, a sharp cry breaking the silence of the heavy room.

They continue to rock weakly together as they come down, and George is murmuring soft nonsense into Matty’s damp neck, hissing a little as Matty’s hands lazily drag over George’s back, brushing against the broken skin left by Matty’s nails.

‘Love your back, my favourite part of you,’ Matty mumbles sleepily as George slowly pulls away, eager to clean them up before the come starts to dry. He stands up on wobbly legs and hastily grabs a cloth from the kitchen, wiping his stomach and his softening cock as he heads back over to Matty.

Matty’s eyes are closed, and they flutter a little as George drags the cloth over his sweaty skin. George gazes down at Matty while he teeters on that ledge between awake and asleep, and he feels that tug of love once again, pulling him in, dragging him deeper. 

Discarding the cloth, George grabs the blanket from the back of the sofa and drags it over them as he settles around Matty in a sort of half spooning position. 

‘G’night, George.’ Matty’s voice is thick with sleep, shifting so that his face is pressed into George’s shoulder.

‘Goodnight, Matty,’ George whispers, too tired and hazy from his orgasm to really think coherently or truly comprehend what just happened, so he just focuses on the soft rise and fall of Matty’s chest, and allows it to calm his own frantic heart, and eventually lull him to sleep.

**

George comes to the following morning to find Matty smiling at him from the other side of the sofa, he has a cup of coffee in his hand, and a plate of marmite on toast balancing on his knee. There’s another cup of coffee sitting on the table next to him, and a warm glow ignites in his chest.

‘Rise and shine, sleepy head,’ Matty says softly, taking a bite of toast, and handing George the uneaten slice. George takes it gratefully, his stomach rumbling in anticipation as he takes a bite, only now realising how absolutely starving he is.

‘Thanks,’ George says through his mouthful, sitting up, the blanket he’d dragged over the two of them before they’d gone to sleep, slipping to the floor. He watches as Matty’s eyes linger on his crotch, and George is momentarily embarrassed, cheeks flushing until he reminds himself that this is _Matty,_ so he doesn’t go to pick up the blanket, just grins over at Matty while he munches his way through his slice of toast.

‘I’m supposed to be the slutty, shameless one,’ Matty laughs, and George notes he’s retrieved the boxers he was wearing last night. He gives a shrug as he finishes his slice, picking up his coffee and sipping slowly, Matty’s eyes on him the entire time, he’s not ashamed of his body, and Matty seems to be enjoying the view, and George finds it’s quite freeing to throw caution to the wind in this regard.

George taps his fingers against the rim of his mug, his nail making little ‘plink plink’ noises, and it seems like they’re both struggling with what to say, probably due to the fact that there’s _too much_ to say, too much emotion to unpack, and George is struck, like he often is, with how much of his life has been completely taken up by Matty. Matty has been by his side at every single pivotal life event in almost twenty years; his first kiss, losing his virginity, the first time he fell in love, the band, touring, their first album, all of it, Matty had been there for all of it, and he simply can’t imagine not having Matty by his side. And maybe all of this is just a natural progression, in being so close, in every way imaginable, maybe it had just been inevitable from the start. Matty is a part of him, and last night meant more to George than he could hope to put into words this morning.

‘So, we should… uhhh, we should probably talk about last night,’ Matty supplies, wiping a smear of marmite from the corner of his mouth, and licking his fingers clean when he’s finished.

‘I’m sorry,’ George says quickly, before Matty can interject, he needs to get the words out before he loses his nerve. ‘I know this all seems out of the blue… it’s just this whole thing, being here with you like this, it reminded me of when we used to live together, you know? I know we weren’t always happy during that period, but it was never anything to do with the fact that we lived together. We were so fucking domestic, and we were so young, and I just haven’t been able to get the thought of kissing you out of my head for days now…’ he pauses for breath, his voice shaking a little. Matty is peering at him kindly, which gives George the courage to continue.

‘You’re my fucking best mate, and don’t get me wrong, I love Adam and Ross like brothers, but we- you and I… it’s always felt different, special, you know? We’re Matty and George.’ He swallows, hands shaking around his mug. ‘I love you, man. I don’t know if last night was a fluke, or whatever, but I don’t regret it. I hope I haven’t fucked everything up, but if I have, then I’m sorry, and please forget everything I just said.’

‘Blimey, George,’ Matty laughs after a long pause, cheeks slightly pink. ‘You’re usually a little more sparing with your words…’

‘Just wanted to get it all out… not a lot of point in hiding it after last night anyway, but yeah…’

Matty places his mug and plate on the ground, shuffling closer to George on the sofa, so he can take George’s free hand in his, squeezing.

‘No one means as much to me as you do,’ Matty admits, quietly. ‘Don’t think anyone ever fucking could, okay? You’re on like, your own level, you know what I mean?’

George nods. Matty continues.

‘I’m not gonna pretend that I saw this coming, because I definitely fucking didn’t… but I’m not mad that it happened. I think we’re at the point in our relationship where there’s really not anything you could do to make me mad at you. We’re like… the same fucking person, do you know what I mean? The other night when we were drunk, I thought we were just messing around, but when I kissed you… in the kitchen, I still don’t know why I did that - you were just looking at me so kindly that I did it without thinking, and that scared me so fucking much. And when you watched me jerk off, it drove me crazy, as soon as you left, I came so fucking hard thinking about you coming in, and…’ he stops, takes a breath. ‘I had no fucking clue you were into blokes, man, how long have you been keeping that little bit of info from me, hmm?’

‘M’not into blokes,’ George admits, staring into his mug. ‘Last guy I kissed was at a party when we were like eighteen, and I’m pretty sure the kiss lasted all of about five seconds, and I think I only did it to impress a girl anyway, so it hardly counts.’

Matty stares at him now, rendered speechless, mouth all but hanging open. He blinks quickly, shaking his head, then lets out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.

‘I would have never guessed that from last night. Fucking hell, George.’

‘I’m not into blokes… but it would seem that I’m into you,’ his admission is quiet, and George desperately hopes that Matty understands him, and all his implied meanings. ‘Just you.’

The words hang heavy between them, and it’s only then that George realises that Matty is still gripping onto his fingers, his grip a comforting reminder that Matty is still here, he still has him here.

‘George,’ Matty says gently, and George raises his eyes from their intertwined fingers to look at Matty’s face, all furrowed brows, and bitten, pink lips. Matty reaches his free hand and plucks George’s mug from his fingers, placing it gently on the floor before climbing carefully into his bare lap.

‘What are you doing?’ George murmurs, his hands instinctively coming up to rest on Matty’s soft waist, heart rate picking up even though Matty isn’t technically doing anything, just looking at him with something akin to awe on his face.

‘Matty?’

Matty leans in and slowly grazes his lips against George’s, slightly hesitant, soft, and it takes every ounce of George’s willpower not to wrap his arms around Matty, and pull him closer, kiss him with the desperation of last night, but also with the assurance that at least he and Matty are partially on the same page this morning. George feels warm all over, just from having Matty’s hands cupping his cheeks, and it’s so rare for Matty to be so gentle. It’s almost like Matty is worried he’ll scare George off, which, George thinks, is almost laughable considering everything that’s happened between them in the last forty-eight hours.

Their lips move slowly, George rubbing his fingers in soft circles into Matty’s skin, and it’s perfect. Matty feels perfect with his weight settling on George’s thighs, the way he tastes like coffee, and marmite, and ever so slightly of toothpaste. George is just starting to settle into the kiss, and he can feel his cock getting hard despite himself when Matty pulls away, leaning his forehead against George’s, almost tenderly.

‘Can’t believe we could have been doing this the whole fucking time,’ Matty groans, his lips brushing against George’s as he speaks, and it makes George lean up, desperate to connect their lips once more.

‘You definitely talk too much,’ George laughs fondly, but it’s tinged by abject desperation, because he’s becoming increasingly aware that now he’s had Matty in that way, he just wants more, wants it all, in fact.

‘Someone alert the fucking press, Matty Healy talks too much!’ Matty giggles, and this time he kisses George harder, a little messier, and that’s all the invitation George needs to tug Matty closer, so he drags Matty by the hips until their chests are flushed. But to George’s frustration, Matty pulls away again, still grinning, eyes glinting.

Matty smirks at George, not breaking eye contact as he climbs off George’s lap and sinks slowly to his knees. And Suddenly, George’s tongue feels too big for his mouth as he gazes down at Matty, instinctively parting his legs so Matty can settle between them.

‘Upon further inspection I’ve come to the conclusion that your cock is abnormally large,’ Matty says conversationally, eyeing George’s cock up from where it’s resting heavily against his stomach. George smirks.

‘Never had any complaints, quite the opposite, in fact.’

Matty’s eyes flash dark. ‘I have no doubt about that,’ he murmurs, his fingers resting on George’s thigh, raising himself up on his knees to get a better angle. He pauses for a second, his eyes meeting George’s, and George can sense the nervousness there now. ‘It’s uhhh… it’s been a while since I’ve done this, so go easy on me, yeah?’

George just nods, his heart hammering as Matty wraps his fingers around him, George swallows thickly, his brain rapidly emptying of all coherent thoughts when Matty drags his tongue over the wet, sensitive head of George’s cock. 

‘Fuck, George,’ he moans at the same time that George lets out a short choked off groan, one hand resting on his stomach, the other settling on the back of Matty’s head, gently. It’s been months since George has had his cock sucked, so he’s halfway desperate already to just push Matty’s face down, but Matty still appears nervous, so George fondly scratches the back of Matty’s head in what he hopes is a reassuring way.

‘You can… uhh, you can pull my hair, if you like?’ Matty says in a low voice, and George remembers the previous night, the way pulling on Matty’s hair had been like flicking on a switch.

‘I’m sure you’d love that,’ George laughs, and he’s about to pull on Matty’s hair, just slightly, to prove a point, but then Matty sucks the head of George’s cock into his _fucking perfect_ mouth, and George loses coherencey embarrassingly quickly. His grip tightens in Matty’s hair but he doesn’t pull just yet, the hand that’s not tangled in Matty’s hair flying to his mouth so he can bite down on his knuckles.

‘Oh fuck, just like that, love,’ George grunts when Matty proceeds to drag his tongue wetly down the underside of his cock, moving lower, and mouthing slowly at the seam of his balls. Matty looks up at him with a quirked eyebrow before licking the flat of his tongue back up his length to suck on the tip, licking over his slit repeatedly.

George has to squeeze his eyes shut, because he knows that if he keeps watching then he’ll come too quickly, and he wants to savour this. He’s certain now that this has been something he’s subconsciously wanted ever since he walked in on Matty on his knees all those years ago.

Matty wraps his hand around the base of George’s cock, squeezing experimentally as he starts to bob his head, and George just _has_ to open his eyes, deciding he doesn’t want to miss this, not for a second, and what he sees doesn’t disappoint. Matty’s eyes are fluttering shut, his lips stretched wide, wet, and pink, spit building at the corners as he takes more of George into his mouth.

‘Fucking hell, Matty,’ George pants, and his words seem to spur Matty on even more, he bobs his head faster, and George brings both hands down, resting them on top of Matty’s bobbing head, and it takes every ounce of strength in him not to fuck Matty’s throat. Matty has spit dripping down his chin now, and he must realise because he pulls off George’s cock with an obscene noise. He’s breathing heavily as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, one hand still wrapped around George’s cock, looking up at him, as if waiting for his reaction.

‘You’re bloody incredible,’ George murmurs, carding his fingers through Matty’s hair.

‘S’like riding a bike, you never forget,’ Matty smirks, dragging his fist slowly up George’s spit slicked cock.

A shuddery sort of laugh breaks emits from George’s lips, his hips automatically bucking into Matty’s hot fist. It makes Matty’s dirty grin widen, obviously enjoying watching George lose it above him, and there are so many questions that George wants to ask Matty; when did you last do this to someone? Who was it? Do you prefer it to being with girls? Have you thought about doing this with me before? But he can’t voice them, not now, not when Matty is guiding George’s cock back towards his lips, pupils blown wide with want, like there’s nothing he would rather be doing right now than sucking George off.

‘Actually forgot how much I love doing this,’ Matty says quietly, almost to himself as he wraps his lips around the head of George’s cock, a low groan spilling from his mouth as he laps at the precome leaking from the tip.

‘Get on with it,’ George groans, moving his fingers to scratch at Matty’s scalp. This seems to be the only encouragement that Matty needs, because he slowly sucks George down as far as he can go, and George’s eyes all but roll to the back of his head. 

When he comes, George only just manages to gasp out a warning of, ‘fuck, gonna come,’ before he’s spilling hard into Matty’s waiting mouth, hips rolling up, head thrown back against the sofa as his orgasm rocks through him.

Matty swallows, and then _whimpers_ at the taste, and George opens his eyes in enough time to watch his cock slip from Matty’s wet lips, and Matty reaches into his boxers, and pulls his cock out, starting to stroke himself off rapidly.

‘C’mere,’ George croaks out, causing Matty to scramble into George’s lap with an abject lack of finesse. Matty brackets George’s thighs with his own, and George hastily spits into his hand before wrapping it around Matty’s cock.

‘Oh God,’ Matty pants, bracing one hand on George’s shoulder, the other coming up so he can tuck two fingers past his lips. He’s so slick from precome, and George’s spit that it only takes a few pulls on his cock before he’s spilling heavily all over George’s fist, mouth open in pleasure, head tipped forward so his forehead brushes against George’s before resting there, panting breaths ghosting George’s lips.

George hesitates before hastily wiping his hand on the sofa cushion, deciding that he’ll deal with it later, because he simply can’t wait a second longer to kiss Matty. He hauls him forward, and Matty squeaks in surprise, almost loses his balance as George kisses him with a hunger he hasn’t experienced with someone in what feels like forever, he can taste his release on Matty’s tongue, and he doesn’t even care because Matty is kissing him back with just as much heat, despite the fact that they’ve both already just come. George can’t get enough, can’t get close enough, wants to bury himself inside Matty and stay there forever. Matty’s hands are clutching at his hair, tugging on the short strands with eager fingers, and George is halfway hard already. 

‘God, I wanna fuck you,’ George groans before he really knows what he’s admitting to, but fuck if it isn’t true.

‘Fuck. You really can’t say shit like that,’ Matty whines as he slides his hands down so they’re cupping the side of George’s neck. ‘I have to shower… I have to- fuck, I have that video interview thing to do today…’ He pulls away, and George is mesmerised, captivated by everything that’s always been there, but that he’s never really paid attention to before; like the small mole on the juncture of Matty’s chin and neck, the bob of his adam’s apple, and the quirk of his lips. 

Matty wobbles a little as he stands, pulling his boxers up, eyes glancing sideways, his face then settling in a scowl.

‘Did you wipe my come on the fucking sofa?’

‘Where else was I gonna wipe it?’

‘I dunno, George, anywhere else? I would have licked it off your fucking fingers, just don’t wipe it on the sofa next time, yeah?’

‘Okay, okay, next time, no come on the sofa, got it,’ George concedes.

‘Next time,’ Matty says with a smirk, turning on his heel and heading in the direction of the bathroom. George watches him leave, unable to stop the grin that spreads across his face.

He decides to store the mental image of Matty licking his own come off his fingers for later.

**

George feels like he shouldn’t be as shocked as he is that he and Matty just go back to normal for the rest of the day. Matty has several video interviews with various radio stations about the new album, and after he cleans the come stain from the sofa, George focuses on the music, tweaking and fixing things, plays around with some new stuff, and when they’re not working, they go for cigarette breaks together.

The only exception to normality being when the sun comes out briefly in the afternoon, and they decide to have a kickabout outside. Matty nets a particularly impressive shot, and he pulls his shirt over his head and waves it in the air like an idiot, and George is about to tell him as such, but he gets distracted by the way Matty’s joggers ride low on his hips, and George can’t really help himself when he tackles Matty to the ground, kissing him until they’re both breathless, and Matty starts to grumble about how hard it is to get grass stains out of clothes. 

George makes lasagne for dinner while Matty tries and fails to follow a chocolate mousse recipe, they banter across the kitchen, and George is quite glad that Matty can’t see him grinning fondly as he cooks, because the look of concentration on Matty’s face is so endearing that George can’t _not_ grin like an idiot. They eat on the floor in the living room, Friends reruns playing in the background while they talk nonsense, and Matty praises George’s lasagne like he’s the second coming of Gordon Ramsay. And it’s so nice, Matty is content, and for that reason, and that reason alone, George is content too.

Matty stretches his legs out when they’ve finished eating, he pokes George’s thigh with his toes, and George grins over at him, it earns him a small smile back, and George takes this as permission to gently rest his hands on Matty’s legs. He rubs slowly over the material of Matty’s jeans, and George considers that this shouldn’t feel different, they’ve been in this position hundreds of times in the past, but it does, it feels _different,_ like there’s been a seismic shift. Fundamentally, everything is the same, but there’s a new layer to their relationship, because Matty keeps looking at George out of the corner of his eye, and every time he does, George’s heart rate picks up exponentially. He feels a flush of warmth every time Matty laughs, and it’s only now that George realises that he’s always done this, seeing Matty laugh has always ignited something in him, Matty’s happiness has always been intrinsically linked with his own, so much so that it’s almost like second nature. 

George stifles a yawn just as Matty’s phone starts to ring from the table, he swings his legs out of George’s lap, grabs his phone and answers it, mouths ‘mum’ at him as he grabs the cigarettes from the table and heads towards the patio doors. George watches him light up while speaking in low tones to his mum, deciding to leave Matty to it as he clears away the plates and cutlery from dinner, as a rule it’s Matty’s job to do the dishes, as George does most of the cooking, but he decides to let it slide tonight. Matty doesn’t speak to his mum as much as he’d like to, and George knows he misses her more than he wants to let on.

Matty is still on the phone by the time George is finished with the dishes, and he hears Matty say, ‘hi, twatface,’ with fondness in his voice, so he’s guessing Denise has passed the phone over to Louis now. 

George makes the decision to shower, with the express idea that once he’s done they can put on a movie, and pass out on the sofa together like they usually do. So he showers quickly, wrapping a towel around his waist when he’s done, but when he goes to open the bathroom door, he finds Matty standing there, like he’d been about to come in himself. 

Matty looks like he’s about to say something, but the words die in his throat as he just stares at George, a new kind of electricity crackling between them now.

‘Did you wanna… uhh- did you wanna use the bathroom?’ George gets out, his voice cracking a little in the middle, unsure really why he’s nervous, but Matty is just looking at him, eyes flicking from George’s face, and then downwards.

George swallows, and Matty’s eyes follow the bob of his adam’s apple, swallowing in response before he brushes past George, and George just about moves in time before the bathroom door closes abruptly, leaving him staring at the closed door, confused, and wrong-footed once again. He turns with a shake of his head, and sighs quietly to himself as he shuts his bedroom door with a click, sitting firm down heavily at the end of the bed, and burying his face in his hands in frustration. 

The look in Matty’s eyes, George is ashamed to admit, shot straight to his cock, and he’d been certain that Matty had been about to kiss him, only to throw him off once again. Frustration laces George’s movements as he dries himself off, and pulls a fresh pair of boxers, and an old baggy vest from the closet. He’s just done shrugging them on, when his bedroom door clicks open slowly to reveal Matty standing in the doorway.

They stand there looking at each other for what feels like an awfully long time, and it’s so rare for Matty to be at a loss for words that the silence feels unprecedented. George sits down on the edge of the bed once more, hating how tense the air feels between them, but Matty breaks the silence eventually,

‘I spoke to my mum… told her about what happened last night,’ Matty says in a low voice, it causes George’s stomach to flip. ‘She wasn’t even that surprised, George- fuck…’ he trails off, closing the door behind him as he comes into the room. ‘Has everyone been able to see it this whole time?’

‘I dunno, maybe?’ George replies quietly. Matty’s dark, intense eyes never leave his.

‘Did you mean what you said this morning? That you want to fuck me?’

George nods tersely.

‘Fuck… George, if we actually do this then there’s no going back. This is fucking massive.’ 

Matty’s voice is wavering, and George stands up without fully comprehending what he’s doing, tugging Matty’s smaller frame tightly into his chest. Matty’s arms weave around George’s middle, like George is the only thing that’s keeping him from floating away.

‘I think we might’ve already passed the point of going back,’ George says softly into the top of Matty’s head. The tension between them seems to fizzle out, and the eager, lust filled events of the previous night seem like a thing of the past as he holds Matty close. George feels like perhaps Matty telling his mum about what happened has solidified the events in his head, and maybe only now is he realising the full implications of what it all means.

‘Love you so much, G,’ Matty mumbles as he lifts his head from where it’s been pressed into George’s chest for the last few minutes, his eyes are shining, and George can feel the dampness from where he’s obviously been crying silently. ‘Wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for you.’

George doesn’t say anything, knows better than to talk in depth about what Matty’s referring to, so he just nods, says, ‘love you too,’ knowing full well that it’s more than that, it’s _so much more_ than that. Matty is so much more than just a simple ‘love you too’, but there seems to be a disconnect between George’s heart, and his mouth. What he wants to say is something along the lines of, _‘I can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you are, I will do anything to protect you, and the fact that you’re crying right now is making my chest ache,’_ but he can’t say it, and he finds it painfully ironic that the words he wants to say convey more than saying ‘love you too’ ever could, because they say that all the time, it’s too commonplace, too mundane to really mean anything anymore. They had got so used to saying ‘I love you’ without words anyway. To them, ‘I love you’ looked like hot coffee in the morning, years of in jokes, thousands of miles on the road, shared joints, and shared dreams, euphoric highs and catastrophic lows, and every single thing in between.

George leans down and brushes his lips softly against Matty’s creased forehead, something he’s always done to previous girlfriends when they’ve been upset, it’s an intimate gesture, and it somehow feels right to extend it to Matty right now. He’s well-versed in Matty’s shifting moods, and he guesses he should have known that all this wouldn’t all be plain sailing, whatever _all this_ even is. Being on the receiving end of Matty’s flighty bursts of emotion can be jarring, but George is somewhat used to it after all of these years, which is why he’s not even remotely surprised when Matty takes this opportunity to lean in, and brush his slightly damp lips against George’s neck. Matty’s breathing comes out in uneven, shaky bursts, and it causes the hairs on George’s arms to prickle.

‘Tell-... tell me if you want me to stop,’ Matty whispers, slowly sliding his hands up the back of George’s vest, his lips dragging over George’s fluttering pulse. 

_Please don’t stop, don’t ever fucking stop._

‘I’m not gonna tell you to stop,’ George murmurs, closing his eyes, and savouring the sensation of having Matty so close, and _god _, he’s going to fuck Matty. The reality of this hits him like a tonne of bricks, he’s going to be _inside_ Matty. His stomach jolts, and he realises that he doesn’t even know if Matty has even done this before. __

__‘Have you done this before? With… a guy?’ George blurts out, and Matty stops, his lips pausing against George’s jaw._ _

__‘Yeah, a few times. But it was ages ago.’_ _

__George swallows and cups the side of Matty’s neck, slotting their lips together, and Matty melts into it, kissing back almost immediately, eyes slipping shut. He edges closer, and George deepens the kiss, their chests flushed together, and fuck, they’re actually going to do this, and the knowledge that Matty has done this before, with people that aren’t him makes him feel possessive, the desire to be better than them all but consuming his thoughts._ _

__George tugs at Matty then, and they fall back onto the bed in a tangle of limbs, and Matty seems to have forgotten the fact that he’s been crying just five minutes previously. Matty is half on top of him, and it’s different than last night, the light is on, and George can see everything in perfect clarity as Matty grinds his hips against his own, the way the muscles in his biceps tense as he holds himself up, and the way his mouth hangs open when their cocks brush through layers of fabric._ _

__‘Christ, Matty,’ George grunts, and flips them so Matty’s underneath him, looking up at him with darkening eyes, and the fact that Matty apparently wants this just as much as he does makes George’s head spin. He wants to taste every inch of Matty’s body, and he’s feeling increasingly impatient about it, especially when Matty’s eager fingers tug at the bottom of his hoodie, George helps him remove it, and he bites his lip when he sees that Matty’s wearing nothing underneath, the pale expanse of his chest laid bare for George to mark, and claim._ _

__George shrugs his own shirt off, letting it fall to the floor when he leans down, kissing and biting eagerly at Matty’s chest, and adjusting quickly, he notes to himself, to the lack of tits as his teeth graze over the ink on Matty’s chest. Matty’s skin is hot under his touch, his heartbeat erratic, matching George’s own, not through nerves but through pure excitement._ _

__‘George,’ Matty sighs, his fingers reaching down to scratch at the top of his head, his hair no longer long enough to pull, which George may be starting to regret slightly. He keens into the touch, and ‘hmms’ low in his throat, tongue rubbing over Matty’s nipples in turn, causing the smaller man to whine under George’s ministrations, and George can feel just how hard Matty is in his joggers from barely any contact._ _

__‘Didn’t know guys like having their nipples played with,’ George grins. ‘Thought that was a girl thing.’_ _

__Matty pouts but his eyes are shining as he slaps at George’s shoulder weakly._ _

__‘I’ll have you know I’m perfectly manly, thank you.’_ _

__‘I think you’re full of shit,’ George says, a teasing lilt to his voice now as he settles between Matty’s legs and rubs a hand over Matty’s erection, his other hand cupping himself. Last night had been so frantic and rushed, that George really just wants to take his time now, to really enjoy having Matty all to himself._ _

__George trails his fingers over Matty’s clothed cock teasingly, hot spikes of warmth shooting through his body as he watches Matty’s lips part slightly. He breathes George’s name, propping himself up on his elbows so he can look down while George drags the waistband of his joggers down over Matty’s cock, he’s not wearing any underwear, and _fuck_ that’s so fucking hot, George thinks idly. As he tugs Matty’s joggers down the rest of the way, George is rocked by the magnitude of what’s really happening, because Matty is gazing up at him do intensely that he could swear that no one has ever looked at him with so much pure _want_ before in his fucking life. _ _

__Matty’s cock is flushed, and leaking against his stomach, but George doesn’t touch, he crawls his way back up Matty’s body, and pulls him into a searing kiss. Matty instinctively wraps his legs around George, digging his heels into the backs of George’s thighs, his mouth pliant and wet, and George licks into his mouth eagerly. He tastes like cigarettes, skin, and the wine he’d had with dinner, and it’s entirely intoxicating, a heady rush descending over George now that he has time to truly savour everything._ _

__‘Oh my god, George,’ Matty whines when they finally pull apart to allow much needed air into their lungs. Matty’s hips bucking up, grinding against George, his head falling back onto the bed with a light thud. ‘I fucking want you, please, George. Fuck.’_ _

__‘How do you want me?’ George murmurs, sucking on Matty’s full bottom lip, his breathing coming out irregular and choppy. He knows what Matty wants, but he wants to hear the words leave Matty’s perfectly pouty mouth._ _

__‘Fuck me. God, please fuck me. It’s been so fucking long. Need it-... need you,’ Matty moans, voice tinged with desperation, his eyes wide, and almost pleading, and George hasn’t even touched him yet,_ _

__‘How long’s it been?’ George asks, his voice rough as he settles back on his knees, taking in the sight of Matty beneath him, his own cock hard and needy, pressing up against the waistband of his boxers._ _

__‘Years,’ Matty groans, pushing his hips up against thin air, face twisted with need. ‘Three or four years, I dunno. Please, George!’_ _

__‘Who was it?’_ _

__‘Jesus christ, this isn’t twenty fucking questions, George! It was a guy I met at a bar in LA, I think, now can you fucking get on with it?!’_ _

__‘Should have known your impatience would extend to the bedroom,’ George snarks, shifting on the bed so he can lean over and grab the half used bottle of lube from the drawer in his nightstand._ _

__He’s a little apprehensive as he settles between Matty’s spread legs again, he looks a fucking picture with his legs wide, cock flushed, and his bottom lip bitten between his teeth. George has done this with girls in the past, he’s fucked girls in the arse, fucked them in the arse with his fingers while he’s eaten them out, and he’d never really thought twice about it. But this is Matty, and Matty is different. Matty is special._ _

__‘Maybe… maybe on your hands and knees?’ George suggests, his voice catching in his throat as he gives his cock a squeeze, his stomach churning with anticipation and arousal. Matty groans at George’s words and flips himself onto his front, his back curved down towards the bed as he pushes his arse up shamelessly._ _

__‘Do you ever do this… to yourself, I mean?’ George asks as he slicks a finger up, aware that he’s asking too many questions, and that Matty will probably snap at him again, but he needs to know how slow to take it; if he hasn’t done this in years then he can’t be too rough for fear of hurting him._ _

__‘Sometimes,’ Matty groans, pushing his arse towards George needily now, and that’s all the invitation George needs to slowly rub his finger against Matty’s rim, letting out a slow exhale to try and calm his erratic heart. A muffled, high-pitched whine breaks free from Matty’s lips as George circles slowly, teasingly over his hole, not pressing in, just getting Matty used to the sensation. When he finally slips his finger inside to the first knuckle, George finds himself groaning, because Matty is almost impossibly tight. George can only imagine how fucking incredible Matty’ll feel wrapped around his cock. Matty doesn’t respond to George’s words, just pushes back against George’s hand, spine arched deliciously as George curls his finger inside Matty’s hot body._ _

__‘More,’ Matty eventually whines. ‘Don’t have to be gentle. I want it.’_ _

__George slides a second finger in alongside the first, leaning down to press kisses against Matty’s arse as he fucks Matty with his fingers, torturously slow, stretching Matty out, and occasionally curling his fingers, Matty jolting out a whine every single time he thrusts his fingers in._ _

__‘Fuck, I’ve missed this,’ Matty whimpers, his fingers clenched around the sheets as he arches his back a little more, and George curls his fingers again but this time Matty lets out a harsh cry, clenching hard around George’s fingers._ _

__‘Ugh, fuck me. There, fucking hell. George, right there,’ he rambles, so George complies, knowing he must have found that spot inside Matty, he may have never fucked a guy before, but he’s no novice. So he thrusts his fingers hard into that spot, biting down on his bottom lip to stifle a groan, not willing to admit that watching Matty writhe and moan beneath him has him so on edge that he knows that it would only take a few strokes of his cock to have him coming all over the back of Matty’s thighs._ _

__George slips a third finger inside Matty as he clenches, and Matty lets out an almost obscenely filthy moan, ripped from deep in his chest, fist thumping down on the bed, and George instantly regrets this position because all he wants is to see Matty’s face, to see how utterly wrecked he looks with three fingers buried deep inside his arse._ _

__‘Please, George!’ Matty gasps, and George removes his fingers entirely too quickly so that Matty hisses, but he doesn’t care, he wipes his fingers on the sheets and flips Matty so that he can shove him back into the mattress, kissing him desperately._ _

__‘Could’ve come just from that,’ Matty whines into George’s hungry mouth, pushing his hips up to rub against George, their cocks dragging together. George shivers._ _

__‘Gonna come myself if you carry on doing that,’ George laughs weakly, pulling away to kneel up between Matty’s legs again. Matty looks thoroughly fucked already, and George wishes he could take a photo, and capture him like this forever; his eyes are dark with need, face, and neck flushed prettily, lips parted. He momentarily considers slipping his cock past Matty’s perfect lips, but he refrains, busying himself with pulling his boxers down, and hissing as the head of his cock brushes against the waistband, certain he’s never been this turned on before in his fucking life._ _

__‘Oh, fuck, you’re gonna fuck me, you’re actually gonna fuck me,’ Matty moans; a statement, not a question, and George nods, feeling hot all over at the thought of finally being _inside_ Matty at last. _ _

__George nods, grabbing the lube again, and pouring a liberal amount into his palm, slicking himself up while Matty props himself up, and looks up at him with dark, hooded eyes._ _

__‘Keep forgetting how fucking big you are,’ Matty blushes, swallowing thickly. ‘I don’t… I don’t think I’ve ever been with anyone as big as you.’_ _

__George preens and smirks at this, and Matty just rolls his eyes, but there’s a fond look behind it which makes George’s stomach twist with a glowing warmth that he feels all the way down to his toes._ _

__‘Not gonna massage your ego anymore, so make the most of it this one time, okay?’ Matty laughs, his eyes full of a dark sort of lust, but it’s tinged with anxiety. He’s staring at George’s cock, and his unsteady breathing hitches when George wipes his fingers off on the sheets and presses a hand to his thighs, effectively spreading his legs, and allowing George to position himself between them._ _

__‘Wait… wait, can I- I wanna be on my front… feels good like that,’ he breathes, and George swallows thickly, he’d really wanted to be able to see Matty’s face, but he also wants Matty to feel as good as he possibly can, and Matty is a lot more expert in this kind of thing than George is._ _

__‘Are you ready?’ George asks gently once Matty is laying on his front, rubbing soothingly at the warm skin of Matty’s back. Matty nods in response, his hot, eager fingers gripping hold of George’s hand where it’s braced on the bed, just momentarily, then pulling away. He twists his head and props himself up on his elbows momentarily so he can briefly look at George._ _

__‘M’ready,’ Matty whispers._ _

__The gravity of the situation hits George at full force, then, as he slowly slides his hand onto Matty’s hip, guiding his cock with his other hand as he slowly presses the head of his cock against Matty’s slick hole. George’s breath catches in his chest, feeling utterly winded as his mouth falls open, and Matty groans loudly below him. He longs to see Matty’s face, wants to kiss him, swallow his broken moans, press their foreheads together, so he can be as close to Matty as possible, not an inch of space where their bodies aren’t touching._ _

__‘Holy _fuck_ , George,’ Matty grinds out as George sinks all the way inside Matty’s tight, hot body, bottoming out with a low groan. George has to steady himself with a hand pressed hotly against Matty’s spine, because he’s so fucking tight that he swears he can see stars, white heat enveloping him, and making sweat bead on his skin. The feeling is so intense that George forgets how to speak, even though all he wants to do is lavish praise upon Matty, for how good he feels, how tight, how _fucking perfect_ he is._ _

__George spits out a breathy curse of, ‘fuck’, his thighs trembling as he slowly starts to thrust, hips barely moving at first, and George can tell from how muffled Matty’s moans are, that he must be biting down on the pillow. He finds himself losing all semblance of time, and reality once he starts to fuck into Matty properly, all that matters is their bodies moving together, and when George leans down, his chest pressed up against Matty’s back, Matty cries out, his knuckles white from where he’s gripping the sheets so hard. Whispered praise drips from his lips, his face pressed into Matty’s neck, and Matty’s sobs of pleasure are his response, and George thinks in that moment that he can’t imagine ever wanting to do this with anyone else, ever again. Matty has ruined him for anyone else, but then again, maybe that’s always been the case._ _

__‘You’re fucking perfect,’ George pants, lips milimetres away from Matty’s ear, and Matty whimpers, seemingly incapable of speech as George continues to fuck him slow, and deep, his neck craned up so it’s resting against George’s shoulder. It’s only when George hits that spot inside Matty that his head thuds forwards onto the mattress, an strangled cry of George’s name ringing out, echoing in the quiet room, it makes George’s head spin just knowing that he’s making Matty feel that good._ _

__‘Yes, yes. Fuck. Yes, George, there, please!’ Matty gasps, flushed cheek pressed against the sheets as George’s hips snap forwards, causing their skin to smack together, the obscene noises filling the air along with Matty’s broken moans. Matty is thrusting against the sheets, pushing back up to meet George’s thrusts, and the feeling of Matty’s sweat soaked skin pressed up against his own has George’s toes curling, warmth building in his stomach._ _

__Matty eventually comes with a sob, cock trapped between his stomach and the sheets, his body tensing up, clenching hard around George’s cock, and George’s orgasm follows not long after, his face still buried in Matty’s neck, biting and sucking at his salty skin. He trembles through the aftershocks, his heart hammering in his chest, Matty’s breathing matching his own, broken, and uneven, like they’d just run a fucking marathon together. George rolls off Matty, and pulls the smaller man into his arms, neither of them saying anything, the silence is comfortable like it always is between them, and when Matty intertwines their fingers, George feels his heart swell inside his chest._ _

__**_ _

__George has more sex in the following weeks than he’d had in the previous six months combined, to say that Matty is insatiable would be an understatement, but George isn’t exactly surprised by this. They fuck at every given opportunitiy, when they’re not making music or doing interviews, they’re fucking. They fuck on the sofa, they fuck in the shower, George even fucks Matty over the kitchen table, trousers down their ankles, too desperate to touch each other to even bother undressing properly. It’s bliss. George thinks he’s died, and gone to heaven._ _

__The only issue is that with every encounter, every kiss, every touch, George falls a little bit deeper, and he’s never been very good at separating sex from feelings, and it’s got him in trouble before, especially when he was a teenager. Matty has all but moved into George’s bedroom, all his stuff is still in his own room, but he spends every night curled up with George, their fingers linked, legs tangled under the sheets. Matty has nightmares sometimes, and George has become adept at soothing him back to sleep, brushing kisses over his heated skin, hushed, soothing words spoken into the night air until Matty settles again, and George always makes sure he stays awake until he’s sure Matty is fast asleep. Most of the time he tries his best not to think about the fact that he’s absolutely 100% in love with his best friend, but when Matty’s asleep in his arms, he lets himself indulge in a scenario where Matty is his, and this is their life together, pandemic, or no pandemic. The thought alone makes his chest ache with a longing that he’s pretty sure he last felt when he was sixteen years old._ _

__George thinks he should be annoyed that Matty has turned him into a pining, lovesick idiot, but then Matty will give him a look, a sideways smile, with glinting eyes, and George knows he’s fucked, but he can’t really bring himself to care._ _

__**_ _

__George is yawning into his coffee one morning, when Matty slips into the seat beside him, towel wrapped around his waist, hair dripping all over the floor when he drapes his legs over George’s lap, knocking his arm and causing coffee to spill all over the table._ _

__‘Watch it,’ George groans, with a shake of his head, and a roll of his eyes._ _

__Matty ignores him, grinning as he lifts his leg up to allow himself to poke George in the cheek with his toe. George grins at this, biting playfully at the side of Matty’s foot before shoving his leg away, and rubbing at Matty’s ankles when they eventually rest in his lap._ _

__‘Why are you being a pest?’ George asks teasingly._ _

__‘I’ve been thinking…’_ _

__‘That’s dangerous, don’t do that.’_ _

__‘Oh, funny. You’re a funny man, no but seriously, George. I’ve been thinking for ages now actually… this place needs a dog. Like, it’s massive here, a dog would love the fields and everything. It should be a big dog don’t you think? It could run around and we can play fetch with it! And there’s plenty of room for a crate. I think we should get a dog, George. What do you think?’_ _

__‘Alright, let’s do it,’ George says easily, feeling warm all over from the way Matty blinks in surprise, he probably wasn’t expecting George to cave so easily, and when his face splits into a wide, excitable grin, George comes to the realisation then and there that he knows that Matty loves him. Matty loves him but he doesn’t have to say it out loud because to them, ‘I love you’ looks like hot coffee in the morning, and the way both their eyes light up when they’re making music together. It looks like lazy fucking on the sofa on a Sunday afternoon, it looks like bickering over which cereal to buy, and, most importantly of all, it looks like Matty poking him in the face with his foot, smile as bright as the fucking sun, impulsive as anything, talking a million miles an hour about how they should get a dog together._ _

__‘Wait… really?’ Matty asks, a little incredulous, because knowing Matty (and George does), he probably had an entire list of reasons to barrage George with if he’d said no._ _

__‘Yeah. Let’s do it. Let’s get a dog together.’_ _

__Matty flings himself on George then, wrapping his arms around his neck from behind, dropping a kiss on his neck._ _

__‘You’re the best, George.’_ _

__‘Tell me something I don’t already know.’_ _

__**_ _

__One week later, Mayhem, Disciple of Chaos arrives, and George can’t help but think that his little family is finally complete._ _

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on Tumblr and say hi 👉👈🥺 I'm 'healybedford'
> 
> 💖


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